True, this something had naught in common with the brilliant spectacles
of which there was no lack during this month of June; on the contrary, it
was very quiet here. An imperial command prohibited the soldiery from
moving about the city at night, and the Frauenthor, through which during
the day plenty of people and cattle passed in and out had been closed
long before. Very few of the worthy burghers--who went to bed betimes
and rose so early that they rarely had leisure to enjoy the moonlight
long--passed here at this hour. The last one, an honest master weaver,
had moved with a very crooked gait. As he saw the moon double--like
everything else around and above him--he had wondered whether the man up
there had a wife. He expected no very pleasant reception from his own at
home. The watchman, who--the moon did not exactly know why--lingered a
short time in front of the Ortlieb mansion, followed the burgher. Then
came a priest who, with the sacristan and several lantern bearers, was
carrying the sacrament to a dying man in St. Clarengasse.

There was usually more to be seen at this hour on the other side of the
city--the northwestern quarter--where the fortress rose on its hill,
dominating the Thiergartenthor at its foot; for the Emperor Rudolph
occupied the castle, and his brother-in-law, Burgrave Friedrich von
Zollern, his own residence. This evening, however, there was little
movement even there; the Emperor and his court, the Burgrave and his
train, with all the secular and ecclesiastical princes, counts, and
knights, had gone to the Town Hall with their ladies. High revel was
held there, and inspiring music echoed through the open windows of the
spacious apartment, where the Emperor Rudolph also remained during the
ball. Here the moonbeams might have been reflected from glittering steel
or the gold, silver, and gems adorning helmets, diadems, and gala robes;
or they might surely have found an opportunity to sparkle on the ripples
of the Pegnitz River, which divided the city into halves; but the